Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
“Just give me the damn keys and don’t spread gossip. It’s inappropriate at work.” She rolls her eyes and pops her gum before giving me the keys. I take them and leave the rental building before I lose my shit and storm into the office. Hell, I don’t have any right to say a damn thing to her.
With a huff, I slide on my shades and drive my Jaguar to the property. It’s the farthest cabin from the rental office and over a bridge away from the rest of the world, looking out over the bay. It’s perfect for my rest and relaxation. The only thing it needs is the sexy redhead to come to my side and tell me she’s ditched the loser. Fuck, I sound pathetic and just like my stalker. I’m fascinated by a woman I don’t even know and have only seen several times in passing.
Shaking all thoughts of her out of my head, I head into the spacious two-story cabin and am completely surprised at the luxuriousness of the place. Although it has a rustic feel, the furnishings are clean and new, the fireplace is gorgeous, and the space is open to a massive kitchen with ultramodern appliances that don’t take away from the beauty of the room.
After setting my bags down on the chair in the living room, I take my suitcase and head upstairs to the main bedroom that overlooks the bay. Living in Los Angeles, you’d think I was used to the beach, but unfortunately, I don’t have an oceanside view and rarely go, so this is a fantastic sight. Kicking off my shoes, I plop on the bed, lie back, and try to take a nap.
About twenty minutes later, sleep doesn’t seem to come, so I sit up and pull out my laptop, and my emails flood in. One by one, I noticed the names, but the first one shocked me.
Stellan, my love.
I saw you today, and you’re breaking my heart. How could you flirt with that woman while acting like I don’t mean anything to you? You know I exist, yet I am pushed aside. I can’t keep letting this happen. I won’t let this keep happening. This betrayal can’t stand.
My chest pounds out of control, racing faster than after I’ve finished an action shot. It’s so damn intense I can hardly catch my breath. This must end. Some crazy woman is fascinated with me because of my roles. Hell, I grew my hair out and changed my look a little over the past two months. The director almost made me cut it, but it was in a helmet for the entire shoot, so it was unnecessary.
That’s it. I’ve decided right here and now that my career is over. These fans are fucking bonkers. I called my assistant immediately. “Felicity, have you seen any deliveries or notes left at the house or studio?”
“No, actually. It’s strange. It’s almost like the stalker stopped her pursuit this past week. Please tell me she hasn’t found out where you are.”
“She has. What the fuck? How did she find me? I had my house, my phone, and my car searched for listening and tracking devices, cameras, and every other damn spyware that someone could get to me with.”
“Do you need me to come down there and hunt for her?” She sounds like she’s a hound dog or something.
“No, you’ll just be in danger if she thinks you’re in the way. She already thinks I was flirting with a woman when it was the exact opposite. I’d been rude to the woman.”
“Damn, well, I could keep looking into it. Did you see any woman that could be her?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to keep checking because there’s a beautiful redhead that I keep spotting everywhere I go, and she’s always out of sight when I go looking for her.” The line gets quiet, and I wonder if the call was cut off, so I look at my cell phone, but it’s still on, so I call out her name. “Felicity, are you still there?”
“Yes. I’m checking into the images we have. Just in case there’s a redhead in the footage from the places where your stalker sent you gifts. If she’s in the images, I can verify it and let you know.”
“I don’t have a photo of the hot redhead.”
There’s a heavy sigh before she says, “Well, I can look for the redheads and send you the stills of them. I’m not sure how many there are in the photos. Are you talking about dyed red or natural red?”
“It looks natural,” I answer. It looked natural, but I’m not an expert in women’s hair.
“I’ll just collect them all,” she sighs, not taking my word for it.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to.”
“If she’s aware you’re over there, you’re not safe. Did you call the police?” she asks.